It Gets Worse
by awfullybad
Summary: This slice-of-life, modern AU follows the colorful casts of ANB and AWL as they try to put up with life (and each other) in the city.


I'm not like other girls.

I don't listen to shitty pop music that plays on the radio, I listen to alternative rock. I don't wear booty shorts, I wear purple zebra print skinny jeans. I don't watch Teen Wolf and Glee, I watch anime and Doctor Who. I don't wear makeup (except my thick black eyeliner) or whore around like the other girls my age.

Wait, that's not right.

I'm not a girl at all. I'm a twenty-three year old homosexual who lives in the basement.

I keep forgetting that.

* * *

A brunet sat in the back of a coffee shop. His impassive eyes would occasionally scan the other customers and even though the French vanilla coffee in his hands was delicious and all that, he was mostly thinking about how much he disliked everything. He was also mentally singing along to the Marina and the Diamonds playing on his phone.

_Primadonna girl, yeah. All I ever wanted was the world._

His roommate worked at this particular Starbucks, but she wasn't called in that morning. He was only there because as he was passing by on the way back from the video game store, the rich and sensual smell of fresh coffee took him by the hand, seduced him, and tenderly pulled him inside.

_Look at all these happy people. I hate happy people. I think it's mostly a jealousy thing._

The song switched to something much more depressing, as if his phone had read his mind and decided it was going to make him feel worse. It was then, for some reason, that Henry remembered something he'd heard too many times.

'It gets better.'

_It doesn't get better. Being openly gay might make your life suck in high school, but when you grow up you realize you have bigger problems to worry about. Like how to pay the rent and why everything costs so much and how your life is literally going nowhere and you're a failure._

_No, it gets worse._

There was a hottie at the counter and he was ordering a latte. Cold coffee was a sin, but Henry was willing to excuse the sins of a cute guy.

_Maybe one day something exciting will happen. Maybe I'll find out I have some hidden powers and I'll be a key instrument in saving the world somehow—just like in all those shitty young adult novels. Maybe I'll meet a foxy guy and he'll fly me to the Caribbean islands and make a man out of me on the sandy beach under the moonlight._

_But for now, I want to get the hell out of here._

By the time Henry had stood up and slipped his phone back into his pocket, his mind had wandered to trivial matters.

_Why do they call it 'in the closet' anyway? This is really bugging me. I'm going to be thinking about this shit all day. What if the phrase was 'under the bed' instead? Mom, dad, I'm finally coming out from under the bed. …Oh. No wonder they didn't make that the phrase._

But little did he know the cutie with the nice ass he'd been scoping out moments prior was walking for the door. And never could he have known that the moment he turned around was the very same moment said cutie was walking by. Elbows collided and nearly a third of that disgusting latte splashed onto the floor.

_Shiiiiiiiiiit. Shit shit shit. What if this is it? What if he smiles nervously at me and apologizes—which would cause me to counter apologize and then offer to buy him a new drink, and what if we sit down and start talking and we have this beautiful moment and he ends up being the guy who fucks me in Bermuda? What if he's the one?_

"Oh, shit. Sorry, man."

"Thanks a lot, jackass!"

_Nope. Definitely not the one._

* * *

Back home, Henry retreated to his safe haven: the basement. The rental originally had only two bedrooms, but when Claire and Miyabi convinced him to move in they ended turned the basement into a third room. Henry didn't mind; in fact, he usually liked feeling far removed and closed off from the world. He had everything he needed down there anyway; game consoles, his laptop, and then a high powered gaming desktop.

When you had video games and wifi, nothing else mattered. Porn was unnecessary, love was unnecessary, family was unnecessary.

_It's not my fault they fill the drinks up to the very top of the damn cup._

Yes, he was still thinking about the incident. But then his phone vibrated, which only ever happened when he got a text message or when Sprint was sending him stupid alerts. This time, it was a text.

**Neil**: You still coming?  
» Still? Well I masturbated over an hour ago if I was still coming I'd probably need to see a doctor  
**Neil**: You know what I meant dumbass  
» Yeah

And that was it. Henry knew Neil's texts were always about something important because Neil wasn't the kind of guy to say hi just because he wanted to. He never just wanted to talk.

_I like Neil .We have this sexual tension thing going—it's pretty hot. Whenever I piss him off I get this feeling he wants to punch me in the face and then eat my mouth. The feeling is mutual._

Henry had a total of five friends; his roommate and cousin Claire, his roommate Miyabi, and then Neil, Allen, and Rod. Neil and Allen were complete assholes, but Henry was able to tolerate them. Rod was way too cheerful, but also tolerable. Claire was just Claire. They'd grown up together out in the country because the two families shared farmland. Henry admired her, often to the point of jealousy.

Miyabi was probably his favorite, as she was everything he wished he could be. Well liked, unashamed, and enthusiastic about her passions (primarily, anime and gay anime porn). They played video games together, watched TV shows together, and she never dragged him out in public when he wanted to stay home. She might as well have been his sister.

Claire was at currently at work, and because Miyabi's car was in the driveway Henry assumed she was either watching anime or fapping. There was also a chance she was doing both at the same time.

_Alright, I can manage to get in a couple boss runs with the guild before I head out. Nobody had better charge straight for the mobs like last time or so help me God—I don't want to waste mana rebuffing a bunch of idiots._

Then his phone rang. Getting a call annoyed him because 1) he couldn't be assed to change the stupid default ringtone, and 2) because it meant someone wanted to talk to him but he didn't want to talk back. He picked up in the end.

"Mom? Whoa, are you crying? …Oh. Dad's dying."

* * *

It was a heart attack.

Henry wasn't sure what to feel. The fact that his own father was going to die any minute was upsetting to some extent, but Henry never liked his father—and his father never liked him. It was a mutual dislike, and Henry was perfectly fine with it.

_I hope you enjoy hell, because there's where you're going. Oh, yeah. You don't make your own son feel like shit his entire life and then expect him to cry for you when your heart betrays you._

While he drove to the hospital there was no regret over never making amends with his father. He only him wished things could have been different. But none of that mattered anymore, and he had a more pressing issue to deal with: What was he gonna say?

_Do I tell him I love him? Do I apologize for being a fuck up? Do I tell him I'll look after mom?_

When he arrived at the room he asked his mother for a minute alone with the old man. His father was lying there with a respirator mask. With his eyes closed, it looked as though he was resting. Henry wasn't even sure if he was conscious.

It was then that he realized just how quiet death could be, and how eerie the silence actually felt. The only noise was the beep of the heart monitor. This was surreal. Maybe he was working himself up, but he actually felt a sense of dread. He was, after all, looking right at death.

When Henry pulled up a chair next to the hospital bed, he finally knew what he was going to say.

"I know I've kept this from you for a long time," he started, "but I think you deserve to hear this before you die." He wet his lips and paused, as if he expected his father to stir or even say something. But there was only silence, do he continued, "Dad…I'm gay."

Not more than a second after the words left Henry's mouth, his father's heart rate went flat. The piercing alarm of the heart monitor went off and Henry could do nothing but sit there and stare at the flat, green line. He stared at it with a slack jaw even as the nurses rushed in and tried to resuscitate his father. The world moved in slow motion and all noises were blocked out except for the persistent scream of the machine. When he finally tore his wide eyes away, he saw a doctor shake her head and jot something down on the clipboard.

Mr. Dawson was dead.


End file.
